My first visits to Toronto were when my parents took us kids once or twice a year to see musicals. They were big fans of Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, Cats, et al, and Toronto productions were a level up from what we'd see in Windsor or Detroit. It was always exciting, the bright lights and big stages… but I don't recall my impressions of the city itself. I wasn't undertaking journeys of my own there yet.
For six weeks in November and December 1996, I lived and worked in Toronto. At age thirteen, in my final year of elementary school, I was accepted into the Page Program at the Legislative Assembly of Ontario. Located in downtown Toronto, the Legislature is known as Queen’s Park. I worked there as a page, Monday to Friday, serving the elected politicians when the house was in session. The Assembly’s website describes the role historically thus: “early Pages were 10 to 14 year-old boys who carried messages, ran errands, and fetched glasses of water for Members of Provincial Parliament.” (At some point, probably in the 1960s or 70s, they included girls.) There were 20 of us in my cohort, hand-picked from across Ontario for our precociousness.
For those six weeks, I stayed with a local family, the O’Connells, whose son Kevin was my age and a fellow page. Mr. and Mrs. O’Connell had emigrated to Canada from Ireland and were devout Catholics. Both were probably factors in my parents letting me go. (Some context for that can be read here.)
One of my first impressions on the family was when I asked permission to watch a new show that was premiering on Friday night. Millennium was Chris Carter’s second TV series, after The X-Files became a mega hit (and my favourite). Mr. O’Connell and I sat down to watch Millennium — and one of the first scenes involved a man brutally killing a priest. Mr. O was deeply offended and angrily turned off the TV. Oops.
Like me, Kevin had two sisters, but that’s where our similarities ended. He was the middle child and an introvert; thirteen-year-old Josh was brimming with energy and confidence, often conveyed as arrogance. I was a brat, so I don’t blame Kevin for not making much effort to befriend me. In retrospect, my presence was probably somewhat disruptive to the O’Connells’ peaceful suburban home. Oops.
Another standout memory of that time was the complex commute Kevin and I undertook from Scarborough, a Toronto suburb, to Queen’s Park. Before dawn, Mr. O’Connell would drive us to a bus stop, we’d board a crowded bus to a TTC station, then take the subway into downtown. It took over an hour, and sometimes two hours when returning during evening rush hour. Before that time, I had only taken a city bus once or twice in Windsor, and I had never seen a subway in real life. Navigating public transit in Toronto was a new and educational experience, and I was a quick learner.
For the first time in my young life, I was freed from the rule of my parents, so I was determined to make the most of it. I made fast friends in the Page Programme and we would explore the city on weekends, spending hours at the Eaton Centre mall, evenings at second-run cinemas, and devouring the many cuisines that Toronto had to offer. My exposure to non-western food and culture was quite limited in Windsor, so I embraced the city’s diversity.
Quickly, I got hooked on the 416. When my tenure as a page at Queen’s Park finished, I returned to Windsor changed: a self-proclaimed “big city boy.”
Barenaked Ladies were the first band I ever associated with Toronto. Their debut album, 1992’s Gordon, was a staple in the car cassette deck on family road trips. I loved the quirky chaos of “Grade 9” and “Be My Yoko Ono”, and the melodious introspection on “Brian Wilson” and “What a Good Boy.” Hearing Gordon as a preteen, I didn’t understand most of what BNL were singing about, but I loved singing along with my sisters. Album opener “Hello City1” reflects the optimism and naiveté that I had on my first trips to Toronto.
The second Toronto band I became obsessed with was Our Lady Peace. It's ‘95 and I'm fully immersed in grunge, learning Nirvana and silverchair songs on guitar and making a racket with my pals in basements and garages. Our primary medium for discovering new bands was MuchMusic, Canada’s music television station. OLP’s debut album landed on Much like a bomb. “Starseed” was the first hit, but it was their subsequent singles that captured me. The “Naveed” video, featuring a rapturous live performance from singer Raine Maida, was one of the coolest things I had ever seen. These four guys were from Toronto, and only a decade older than me. I could be on MuchMusic and playing sweaty gigs one day, too.
Even before my journey to Toronto as a page boy, music was already leading me to envision a life beyond Windsor. To quote the chorus of “Naveed”: “I can't live here anymore.”
Fast forward to the early 2000s and Toronto had the one of the most exciting music scenes in North America, if not the world. I was introduced, again via MuchMusic, to a gorgeous young Torontonian; her debut single blending pop, hip hop and R&B. These weren’t my genres, I was a rock snob, but I couldn't deny that this song and her vibes were sweet.
Throughout 2002, I considered moving to Toronto for university, even visiting Ryerson, York, and the U of T on a school-shopping road trip with friends. I opted for UBC instead, far away on the west coast. Just over a month after I moved to Vancouver, Toronto’s indie rock scene exploded into the mainstream with Broken Social Scene’s landmark album, You Forgot It In People. Bands from their Arts & Crafts record label were suddenly all over college radio, and Metric seemed to play on my campus every six months. The music press portrayed the Toronto scene as a big network of BFFs; they joined forces on stage, they recorded together, they toured in packs, they dated, etc. I was loving Vancouver and UBC, but I was very jealous that wasn't in that scene.
By late 2006, I’m playing in The Painted Birds and working in the music industry (which I wrote about here.) I would visit Toronto 2-3 times per year to attend industry conferences and play gigs, often doing double duty. I always had a great time in the city, making many music friends and frequenting so many great venues. Toronto hosted some of the best TPB shows of our career.
The incestuous Toronto scene peaked commercially in ‘07 with Broken Social Scene member Feist’s massive hit, “1234.”
(Feist is brilliant, and this hit was great for boosting Canadian music, but “1234” is probably the weakest song on The Reminder. I digress.)
In my view, artistically, the best artist or band from that era and genre was Constantines. Originally from Guelph, Ontario, the quintet wrote about big city life with a hard driving, impassioned style. I was late to discovering their music, probably missing many appearances in Vancouver due to ignorance. I didn't see them until I was in Chicago for the 2009 Lollapalooza Festival with my dear friend Andrea. She knew the band and got us into a club show they played, opening for The Gaslight Anthem. That Constantines tour, for 2008’s Kensington Heights album, would be their last until reforming in the mid-2010s. Their songs represent to me the hustle, bustle, and gritty beauty of being a working musician in Toronto.
Since moving abroad in 2012, I've become gradually less connected to and aware of the Canadian music scene. The most exciting rock band I've heard from Toronto in the past 10-15 years is July Talk. They possess some of the scrappy energy of Broken Social Scene and Constantines, but with a dynamism that feels very modern. Their greatest strength is the contrasting, and sometimes competing, vocals from Peter Dreimanis and Leah Fay. Just like with Our Lady Peace’s and Nelly Furtado’s videos — except via YouTube now, instead of MuchMusic — July Talk’s unique visual aesthetic is what first attracted me.
Despite all my positive history with the city — and my recent visit in July was great — Toronto has never been somewhere I’ve wanted to live. Spending six weeks there as a thirteen-year-old set me on a path to gradually seek out bigger cities to call home. When I was ready to leave Vancouver in 2011, I considered Toronto, but it felt like a half step up, not a great leap forward. T.O. didn’t (and still doesn’t) feel exciting or progressive enough for me. To be more specific, Toronto has all the downsides of a big city anywhere — pollution, traffic, crime, high cost of living — and none of the upsides that London has — milder winters, tremendous opportunities in the cultural sector, and an efficient, comprehensive public transportation system. Toronto does have one huge advantage to every other city in the world: I know a lot of incredible people there, and the music scene still punches above its weight internationally.
I've put together a playlist of 22 artists from and/or based in Toronto. I was initially quite strict about the geography — I omitted two of Canada’s biggest rock bands, The Tragically Hip (from Kingston) and Arkells (from Hamilton) — but that was being pedantic. Those two bands are ambassadors for Toronto, often singing about the city. (I previously wrote about The Hip here.) What matters is that these songs evoke memories and associations with Toronto for me.
Those two aforementioned bands represent the old and new guard, respectively, of mass appeal, working class Canadian rock. They have a clear lineage, which is nicely exemplified by Arkells covering The Hip’s “My Music at Work” live:
My favourite part of that video is at 2:11, when Arkells frontman Max Kerman asks the crowd, “aren’t we lucky to be from Canada?”
I don’t see Canada as home anymore, but identifying as Canadian is as important to me as being a music-lover. My journeys to Toronto over decades have instilled both of those qualities in me.
In writing this piece, I learned that “Hello City” is actually about Halifax, Nova Scotia, not Toronto. Whatevs.